


Leave Your Worries at the Doorstep

by roslindi



Category: White Collar
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roslindi/pseuds/roslindi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter pouts, an act which he would deny with his dying breath if she were to say anything about, and says: “The point is, I can kneel again. And I’d really like to put that skill to good use tonight.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Your Worries at the Doorstep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



> Written for the wcpairings exchange at livejournal. The prompt was Peter/El, cunnilingus (and domestic bliss). I hope you like it, lionessvalenti :)

For once, Elizabeth arrives home later than Peter. 

Satchmo greets her at the door, barking once in excitement and wagging his tail. “Hey, baby,” she pats him before hanging her coat and dropping her bag on the couch. 

“I’m home!” She calls.

“I’m in the kitchen.” 

Peter is pulling a steaming plate of chicken tikka masala out of the microwave when El walks into the room. He sets it down on the counter and opens a drawer to pull out a fork and knife. 

“I made dinner for you,” he says proudly.

“Smells good, hon,” El says leaning up to peck him on the cheek. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you also made the cardboard box with ‘Curry in a Hurry’ stamped on the side that’s in the trash bin right now, too?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he says, and then pulls her closer for a deeper kiss.

They sit at the dining room table while El eats. Peter ate before she got home, so he entertains her with stories about his day, most of which begin with the phrase: “And _then_ , Neal did…” El lets Peter amuse her with tales of Neal’s antics, and slowly feels the tension of a difficult day leave her as she wolfs down the only food she’s eaten today since a slice of toast before work.

“So how was your day?” Peter asks.

“Actually, it was kind of terrible,” she shakes her head. It had been one thing going wrong after another all day long. One of her most high profile clients had effectively fired her without using the actual term, multiple orders had arrived but were incorrect, her assistant had been violently sick all over an important original document and then left for the day, and that was all before noon. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just tell me more of Neal’s shenanigans, and then I can go to sleep and pretend I didn’t get out of bed today?”

Peter gives her a worried frown. “Anything you can’t handle?” 

“No,” El says. “Just one of those days.” 

Peter nods, and doesn’t press her for details. One thing (of many) that El has always loved about Peter is how completely he trusts her judgment. When she says something, he believes her, no questions necessary. 

“Well, it’s not over yet,” he says. “Maybe I can help make it better.”

Elizabeth smiles at him. “Oh, how?”

“I saw the doctor this morning. She said my knee is completely fine now,” Peter tells her. “Even cleared me for field work, which I could have told anyone—”

El cuts him off, “You’re lucky and you know it. You could have needed surgery because of your calisthenics. Leave the crazy schemes to Neal and Mozzie in the future, please.”

“I was undercover and in pursuit of a suspect.”

“You were in a denim vest and on a mechanical bull. I have photographic and anecdotal evidence.”

Peter pouts, an act which he would deny with his dying breath if she were to say anything about, and says: “The point is, I can kneel again. And I’d really like to put that skill to good use tonight.” 

El feels a tingle of anticipation. “Mm, yes please. Will you lock up and put Satchmo out? I’ll head upstairs.”

He nods, and El all but throws her plate and fork into the dishwasher before running upstairs. She brushes her teeth and flosses rapidly before going into their bedroom. She kicks off her shoes and unclips her stockings to roll them down and off in quick swipes. 

Peter enters the room then, and wastes no time. He pulls aside the strap of her gown to kiss a line down her shoulder, but makes no move to unzip her. El gets a kick out of being most, or half, clothed for sex. After over a decade of marriage, Peter knows exactly what she likes. 

El backs toward the bed and allows herself to fall back onto it. She wriggles down so that her hips are on the edge of their bed. Peter kneels in front of her on the hardwood floor of their bedroom, his hands pull her knees apart, and then he pushes the skirt of her dress up around her waist. He presses a line of butterfly kisses up her right thigh. 

“Lift your hips, hon,” he says. 

She does, pushing her hips in the air for him to hook gentle fingers under the lace of her panties. He tugs them down inelegantly, inches at a time. It makes her laugh: after so many years of this, he still hasn’t managed to figure out the trick to rolling them down gracefully. 

“Stop it,” He huffs, but she can hear the smile in his voice.

“It’s endearing. I can’t help it,” she tells him. 

“I’ll show you endearing,” Peter says. 

He slides one hand down the back of her thigh to settle just above the back of her knee. She’s overdue for shaving her legs (hence the stockings) but Peter doesn’t ever seem to mind. The other hand he puts on her belly, between the dip of her hips, below her belly button and above the start of the line of V of neatly trimmed hair. It’s a reminder to her not to jerk suddenly, a reflex from that one time on their honeymoon when she almost accidentally broke his nose when she shifted too quickly and then kneed him in the face. They had practiced since then. 

He starts out playful, tracing letters with his tongue against the delicate flesh for her to guess. “P…E…T—Peter!” She laughs, carding her fingers through his hair. “Territorial today, are we?” 

His tongue makes a quick reply. A…L…W…A…Y…S. 

“You too, hon.” She says. 

There’s a shock of cool air, but El barely has time to be surprised before Peter is climbing onto the bed to kiss her. He tastes like her, smells like her, and it sends a little thrill through her. Maybe she’s feeling territorial today, too. Peter pulls away slowly and they smile at each other, and El can see the love in his eyes. “Love you,” El says, “Now get back down there.” 

Peter smiles his secret, wicked smile that his entirely for her. “Yes, Ma’am.”

He sets a torturously slow pace, long licks both soft and hard, and El has to consciously think about not gripping his hair too tight. He’s doing this on purpose, and she has to throw an arm over her mouth to muffle a whine because she hates to make noise. 

Just when El starts to become used to the pace he speeds up, pushing deeper, more firmly. This is the part where he gets sloppy, and it should be annoying, waiting for him to hit that spot that makes her thighs quiver and fingers scrabble for a grip in something, anything, but it’s her favorite part: Peter breathing hard through his nose, hair mussed and the pupils of his eyes blown wide as he stares up at her. 

Then he pulls back. Before she can protest, or more realistically, demand that he return his mouth to its rightful place, he sticks two long fingers into her and curls them toward himself. The effect is instant. El's vision goes fuzzy around the edges, her whole body jerks and shudders. There's a gasping noise that must be coming from her, but somehow gets lost in translation between her ears and brain as being her own. 

When she finally gains control of herself, Peter is leaning back on his heels and watching her with amused satisfaction. 

"Don't worry about whatever happened today, El," he tells her seriously. "Tomorrow will be better."

The last of her stress finally leaves her with that, because she always believes Peter. No questions necessary.


End file.
